


Heartbreak Warfare

by lyricalj15



Category: One Direction
Genre: Angst, Eating Disorders, Homophobia, Hurt Harry, M/M, Romance, Self Harm, Smut, larry stylinson - Freeform, nice taylor, triggering!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:46:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalj15/pseuds/lyricalj15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But I guess that's why I'm here now. Because like the story of Icarus, I found something too precious and relied on it too much. I was foolish- because being young, we're all stupid at some point- and I became absorbed in the enigma of Louis Tomlinson. I flew too close to the Sun.</p><p>And I most definitely got burned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Intro, Verse 1

 

Harry

 

I was born on the 1st of February, 1994, in a small town called Cheshire located in the UK. It was the same year that Kurt Cobain committed suicide, the Lion King came out, and that Jordan and Israel signed a peace treaty ending a state of war that had existed between the nations since 1948.

 

All in all, pretty great year.

 

But after that my life was pretty generic. My parents split up when I was seven (honestly whose parents aren't divorced?) and I lived with my Mum and Gemma till about year ten. I was cheeky, charismatic, and I'd never been bullied a day in my life. There were questions about my sexuality that I'd managed to keep under the radar due to my ever present manliness and brute like behavior.

 

Yeah right. I was blessed with two left feet, unfortunately, and couldn't play a match of footy to save my life. And unlike most guys who liked getting sweaty and pushing people around, I preferred something entirely different. I had a passion for music, always did actually, and I'd started a band that was otherwise unsuccessful and quite embarrassing in year seven, but it'd given me just the exposure I needed to realize I wanted to make a career out of it.

 

After a stint as a solo artist failed on the X Factor, I was placed into a group last minute, and we were all given the opportunity that most never get-

 

A second chance. 

 

And now, even through all of the ups and downs we're still together after four years and well, that has to count for something doesn't it?

 

The main thing that counts is that all of us are happy now. 

 

Even though I get to pine after someone in the band whose made it very clear that he doesn't feel the same way about me.

 

But, really, we're all fine. 

 

 

 


	2. If you want more love, why don't you say so?

Monday, November 26, 2013

 

I storm out of the stuffy recording booth, swearing lowly under my breath as I find refuge in the alleyway behind it.

 

_"Harry, this is the third time today you've missed your cue."_

_"Harry, your voice sounds scratchy are you sure you're not catching that nasty flu going around?"_

_"You look kind of tired mate, maybe you should get some more sleep at night yeah?"_

_"I'm fine okay? it's just been a tough week." I'd grumbled. Liam stared at me with that frown of confusion, eyes voicing his disbelief._

_"Are you sure? I mean, you have been losing some weight-"_

_"I SAID I'M FINE OKAY!"_

 

Groaning audibly, I sink down the wall, knees pressed against my chest as I cover my hands with my face. The fact that I had acted like nothing but an ass to Liam hits me hard and I can't help but to yell loudly, fisting my hands through my hair.

 

It wasn't like I'd done it on purpose, honest. It was just. I couldn't help the fact that the reason I kept missing my queues was because I'd barely had a wink of sleep the night before, or the fact that I was so angry all of the time was because I couldn't cut like I wanted without Zayn watching me like a hawk. I hadn't eaten in god knows how long, and when you mash all of that together it's bound to cause some form of irateness. And Liam just happened to make the mistake of caring, and asking too many questions, and god damn it all I'm an asshole.

 

It also didn't help that Louislooked as healthy as ever- practically illuminating under the dim lighting of the recording booth. _**He** _ was cracking jokes, smiling, being himself. And I was sinking further and further into a depression everyday.

 

He never once looked at me. Not a word was spoken, he clearly went out of his way to avoid so much as being next to me when we did anything now- at first it had been because of the whole Larry Stylinson thing, but now it was because of the incident that had changed our lives forever.

 

The incident- that day always leaves a bad taste in my mouth no matter how hard I try to push it into the back of my mind. I understand his annoyance is the thing. I get why he doesn't want to talk to me. Not many people would, after all who cares about Harry Styles, a giant with no grace and two left feet who cries every time the wind blows?

 

He forgot my birthday, too. And that was months ago- so it like, shouldn't matter. Everyone except him was there, which was just fine if you asked me, and I'd even had a small party and everything had been great. But no matter how much I pretended to be happy, or how much I lied to myself saying that I was fine and I didn't need him, I realized I longed for a high keened laugh that could release the tension from my shoulders and pull at my heart strings. I longed for tender touches and a soft voice with a mumbled "happy birthday, harry," and a kiss and so much more. After the party I may or may not have locked myself in what used to be our old bedroom with a bottle of vodka and tears for the rest of the week in an attempt to drown the memories. Sue me.

 

"You alright mate?" A strong, caramel smooth voice asked, breaking me out of my reverie. My shoulders stiffen as Zayn plops down on the sidewalk beside me. My nails dig into the tender flesh at my wrists, creating half crescent marks that give me comfort.

 

" 'Course," I reply breathlessly- turning away from the ethereal beauty that possessed high cheek bones and a prominent jaw structure. He chuckled, long eyelashes fluttering across tanned milky skin as he took another drag of his cig, plump lips chapped and red. Chocolate brown eyes met mine dubiously.

 

"Bull." He breathed on an exhale, his eyes drifting from mine to follow the perfectly blown smoke ring that traveled upward. I sigh, tilting my head back against the cool concrete wall of our recording building- stretching my long cramped legs who cried in relief. My eyes closed of their own accord as the two o clock sun beat down on us, it's rarity enveloping London in a warm blanket that reminded me of American Summer with a sky so blue and a cramped tour bus with hardly any air conditioning at all, sharing bunks with a petite boy who never ceased to make me smile and who always seemed to smell like the ocean.

 

Many things made me yearn for America.

 

"How could you tell?" I ask.

 

Zayn sighs lowly, taking another drag. He runs a hand through his raven black hair with a brooding expression.

 

"Well, for starters, you nearly ripped Liam's head off. He was just asking a question Harry," He drawls, arm outstretching to pull my hand away from my wrist. He gives me 'the look' that expresses his disdain. I roll my eyes, yanking my hand out of his with a huff.

 

"Yeah, too many questions," I grumble. Zayn chuckles.

 

"He's just looking out for you."

 

"I know."

 

Silence envelops us for a brief moment, the distant sound of cars and people and booming music creating a thinly veiled atmosphere that could tilt at any moment. I see from my peripheral Zayn eyeing my wrists, and with a sigh I outstretch my left one towards him. He pulls up the sleeve of the sweater I'm wearing- his hands careful, always careful, and he swears under his breath as he sees the new jagged lines I'd created from last night.

 

"Shit Harry, You have to stop."

 

"I already did- I told you." Lies, obviously. But denial is comforting.

 

His eyes hold many things- concern, worry, fear, helplessness, and disbelief.

 

"I can quit at any time," I breathe stubbornly. Zayn shakes his head softly, slowly.

 

"So you say."

 

"So I know."

 

The hard set of his jaw and his steely gaze says he doesn't believe me, of course. But there are worse things.  
There are definitely worse things.

 

"Harry," Another sigh as he tosses his cigarette to the side, sitting Indian style to face me. He tugs me around like a rag doll, which I feel like now, especially since my soul is as void as one of the nebula's in our galaxy. Or a black hole. Or supernova, whatever.

 

The point is I haven't felt whole since America. America was the beginning, and it was the terrible end. It's a bittersweet symphony that I re-live in my mind every single day and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I'm reminded of it every time I walk by the vacant space that was his in our flat, or find one of his shirts wedged underneath our shitty drier, or when our Dusty sometimes mopes around the house because her favorite owner left.

 

When my eyes meet Zayn's, the tears that seem to never leave me the fuck alone tattoo my face once again. The only thing I feel anymore is pain. God damned pain.

 

"Why does he hate me?" I choke out, clenching my teeth in an attempt to hold myself together. My body's trembling from the effort, and I know it's fruitless to avoid the inevitable. I'd always been very stubborn though.

 

"He...he doesn't hate you, Haz," Zayn whispers softly, rubbing my arms up and down with his tanned strong hands. A sob escapes of its own accord from the tender gesture.

 

"Of course he fucking does Zayn! He can't even look at me for God's sake- like, I just don't get it- I don't-" And now the dam has cracked and the flood begins as I yell through my tears.

 

"What did I even do that was so wrong though? I just wish I could go back, go back and fix everything and I just want to know how to make it okay again and make him see how much this fucking hurts everyday, how much I fucking miss him and need him and I just don't understand. We were soul mates, Zayn, soul mates. I don't understand what to do- please, please tell me it goes away, please tell me I won't feel like this forever..." I'm having a full on strop now in the crook of Zayn's neck, who'd pulled me into him as soon as the tears had started.

 

He rubs my back soothingly, whispering meaningless words in my ear to try and make me laugh- a characteristic that's so definitely _Louis_ and it only makes me sob harder, digging my nails into his leather jacket. His arms are comforting but they aren't the arms I want- they aren't the silky smooth petite boy my heart craves so desperately. They're more muscular and solid. His smell isn't a soft breeze, it's a hurricane that's musky and manly with the lingering scent of cigarette smoke that's overwhelmingly suffocating.

 

His attempts are appreciated, but it only makes me feel even more pathetic and oh, I'm feeling something else so now I can't let go of him even if I wanted too. His arms tighten harder around me.

 

"I can't tell you that, Harry. I couldn't ever lie to you," He responds a bit brokenly himself, carding his hands through my curly locks.

 

I simply cry harder.


	3. Watch my face, as I pretend to feel no pain

Zayn takes me home after my fit. Or, back to the flat- it really isn't home anymore. The only semblance of home I have left is miles away with two women who would fuss over me if they even knew half the state I was in. My old home was stripped bare and crushed with the same hope and adoration that built it to begin with.

 

"You need me to stay?" Zayn asks, the lilt in his voice casual but not. I stand with my back to him facing the too clean living room, remembering sleepless nights with pillow fights and cuddling that led into play wrestling and kissing, so much kissing and love wrapping us up in a bubble- sheltering us from the outside world that was too cruel and harsh, and-

 

"Harry?" I blink, forgetting that Zayn was still in the room with me.

 

When I turn towards him I look determinedly away from those chocolate brown eyes. Because they say that the eyes are the window to the soul, and I truly believe that. Zayn's eyes have held nothing but patience and kindness with also that tint of worry that most mothers possess over their child, and that saying must be true because Zayn has always been a nice person- too nice. Which is why he always gets trampled on by the people he cares about the most. Which is why I don't deserve him as a friend.

 

I clear my throat.

 

"Yeah?" I say, wincing at how hoarse it sounds. He walks a little closer towards me.

 

"I asked if you wanted- I mean, if you need me to stay for a bit. We could chill out here, or go hang out somewhere if you like?" He asks casually again, but there isn't any mistaking the underlying meaning. He doesn't trust me, alone in this flat with too many memories of a place that used to be called "home". He doesn't trust me to take care of myself, to not cut, starve, and drink myself to oblivion.

 

Frankly I don't either.

 

"Yeah," I breathe, " yeah that'd be- I mean if you don't mind-"

 

"Harry," Zayn cuts me off, frowning at my habit of self daprication. I roll my eyes fondly, smiling a little.

 

"Don't patronize me Malik."

 

"Yeah, I'll leave that to Payno," He grins, going over to the tv stand and sorting through movies. He stops at Love Actually, thumbing at the case and pulls it out.

 

"This cool?"

 

"Um, yeah," I breathe, overwhelmed at the fact that he actually remembered what makes me feel better and wanting to kind of cry. Honestly, who even is Zayn Malik?

 

Zayn crinkles his nose as he tosses it in the dvd player and flicks the tv on, throwing himself on the love seat in the center of the room unceremoniously. I blink a bit, still dazed, and sit down slowly. As the beginning of the movie starts I hear him scoff.

 

"You're such a girl, Styles." He says cheekily, eyes kind, always kind, and his tone a bit fond as he ruffles my curls. I snort, smiling a bit for the first time in what feels like weeks.

 

"Coming from the person who checks their reflection every five seconds-"

 

"Oh shutup and watch the movie."

 

___________________________________________________________________

 

_"Harry, what's going to happen to us?"_

 

_"What do you mean, Lou?"_

 

" _I mean, us. You and I."_

 

 _"Well we're going to stick together, obviously."_   **I love you.**

 

_"Yeah?"_

 

 _"Duh. Why?"_    **I love you.**

 

_"It's just.....what if the fame- what if it changes us? I couldn't imagine living in a world without you. Like...what if we end up hating each other?"_

 

 _"I could never hate you."_    **I love you.**

 

_"Yeah. Same."_

 

When I wake up, I'm left with a sticky note on my head signifying Zayn's absence "Went home- i'll check in tomorrow" and nothing but darkness to accompany me. There are worse ways to wake up I guess.

 

But that state between being awake and asleep is always the worst though- because it leaves you disoriented and groggy and you just want to be cranky and yell at people and things until they feel as bad as you do. But of course you can't do that, because, well. Yelling at a lamp at three o clock in the morning doesn't exactly scream  ** _sane_**.

 

I close my eyes, trying to will away the ill feelings, trying not to think about the dream that I had- the dream that was most definitely not a  _dream_  but a memory from the X factor house, after we'd snuck some alcohol and went skinny dipping when most of the contestants had long passed out.

 

I remember him sitting on that pier looking out at the water, the moonlight casting shadows on his angular face, and him smiling that small smile.

 

"Yeah. Same." Louis's voice rings through my ears, his uncertain "certainty" that he would have never left should've raised a red flag to me at the time, should've made me ask questions like how could our friendship, albeit very short but strong, turn into something as ugly as hate? But that was 16 year old Harry, young, naive and too trusting.

 

Four years later and still nothing has changed.

 

"I could never hate you," I whisper, "I love you."

 

The words fall from my lips effortlessly, and I wish that instead of being swallowed whole by the darkness of what used to be our flat, that it'd be consumed with similar affection from a petite cerulean eyed boy who had a love hate relationship with his own tattoos that plagued his tan body, who was all encompassing and radiated warmth even at the most ridiculous times, who was nothing but the Sun itself.

 

But I guess that's why I'm here now. Because like the story of Icarus, I found something too precious and relied on it too much. I was foolish- because being young, we're all stupid at some point- and I became to absorbed in the enigma of Louis Tomlinson. I flew too close to the Sun.

 

And I most definitely got burned.

 

Clenching my eyes shut, I try to fight back the onslaught of emotions that flood through me. There are too many, and it's just too much. It's always too much.

 

As tears prick at the back of my eyes, disgust and self loathing begin to make themselves evident in the pit of my stomach. Venom is spreading through my thoughts, poisoning them, urging me to use unconventional methods to settle my problems. I don't want to, I never want to- but when you feel like a disgusting piece of shit sometimes you begin to just accept it. After picking fruitlessly at my scabs in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, I cave.

 

Sighing, I stand up and crack my back, wincing as the knobs in my spine uncoil, before treading to the bathroom and flicking the light on to find the only thing that seems to give me comfort any more. The only thing that grants me any shred of normalcy I have left.

 

My razor.

 

Only...it's not there? Blinking, I stare at the empty drawer where a shiny silver Guillete fusion razor would be sitting, should be sitting, willing with my eyes for it to just magically appear. For it to not be gone. Frantically opening and re-opening cabinets, searching through drawers, looking around the bathtub, I realize, as dread settles into my gut, that my intuition that Zayn had taken the one precious thing I have left was right.

 

I can't even get mad. But I am.

 

Slamming the cabinet doors, I storm into the kitchen- vying for a much more dangerous, messier option- opening the cutlery drawer only to find....only to find absolutely nothing. At all. No spoons, forks, knives- not even a pizza cutter.

 

"What the actual fuck," I breathe, slamming the drawer shut angrily. How did he even have time to get it all out of my apartment? Palms splayed across the counter top, I clench the edges forcefully, trying to ignore the nervous tick of my hands as the whispering in my head gets louder and louder with each passing minute.

 

I know there's no alcohol in the fridge because when I open it I'm met with smelly leftover take out food and a sticky note in the back, with nothing but a coy winky smiley face that I feel like is laughing at me.

 

"Really," I say dryly, carding a hand through my hair roughly. Zayn is nothing if not thorough and although his worry for me is nice, it's also infuriatingly annoying- especially at times like these where my blood is practically sizzling through my veins with the urge to get out, to be released and to bring release and relief and comfort. Placing my hands over my face I scream, trying to get out my frustrations.

 

And then the phone rings.

 

I should probably answer it- but I know I'm not in the right mental mindset, so I make a note to check the missed calls and to call them back later, because no one ever leaves a voice mail anymore.

 

Only  _apparently_  humans still do that, because the answering machine dings with mine and Louis voices- both of us yelling at each other and trying to interrupt each others sentences, and it's quite sickening it is, and do I really need to hear that at three o clock in the morning on the verge of a mental breakdown with the intent of finding a certain raven haired quiff to tattoo winky smiley faces all over his body to see how it feels to see them mock him?

 

Oh, but it gets  _better_.

 

_"Harry, this is Liam. Look, I know what's been going on. And we really need to talk. So just call me back whenever you get this. Or I'll just show up at your door and refuse to leave. Either way mate, so yeah."_

BEEP.

 

"I'm not sober enough to deal with this," I say out loud to myself before opening up the refrigerator, only to be reminded that yeah, Zayn fucktard Malik took all of my alcohol.

 

I stare at the winky smiley face a bit more before I light it on fire with a lighter I find leftover in one of our drawers that Zayn had overlooked, which I then use to burn what tender skin is left of my wrist.

 

All in all, I'm perfectly okay. 

 

Really. 


	4. Clouds of Sulfur In the Air

Bang Bang

 

"Harry."

 

Bang Bang.

 

"Harry."

 

Bang Bang.

 

"Harry Edward Styles."

 

Bang Bang.

 

"Haroollldddd."

 

Bang Bang.

 

"Do you know the muffin man?"

 

Bang Bang.

 

"Who lives on Drury lane?"

 

And on and on the madness went.

 

Most people considered Louis to be the childish one in the band. But what many of our fans didn't know was that despite Liam's "Daddy Direction" persona, he could be without a doubt the most childish out of all of us if he didn't get his way- and he would do anything to achieve what he wanted. Which was why I awoke to what sounded like a three hundred pound man beating on my door, singing awful renditions of nursery rhymes in a variety of different accents.

 

I look up at the ceiling, shifting my hands behind my head as I lie on the stiff couch, praying to God he'd go away.

 

He moves on to singing Miss Mary Mac in an Australian accent.

 

"It's because I never went to church, isn't it?" I ask out loud to the proverbial silence that is "god" before groaning, fisting my hands through my hair and sitting up. I ignore the dizziness that threatens to make me fall over as I stride to the door, yanking it open with a huff.

 

Liam's fist is raised mid-air, and his face transforms from frowning to a mega watt smile as he lifts up a smiley face take out bag. I glare at the bag and internally try to set the thing on fire with my mind as the smiley face watches back smugly, tauntingly, like it knows something. Fucking bitch.

 

"Ahhh, so he lives! Morning mate, thought I'd bring along some breakfast and such, knowing that you're not really the most pleasant person until you get some food in ya haha." He replies charmingly, his smile briefly reminding me of one of the emojis from my iphone. I stare at him broodingly, unanswering. Had this been the harry from two months ago I would've smiled warmly and invited him in as we talked about footy and touring and loads of other stuff in between stuffing our faces.

 

But, this isn't the same Harry, and instead my stomach emits a loud whine at the thought of food- practically begging me to stuff it full, but the voices in my head comes back.

 

_**You're such a fat ass harry, really. No wonder he didn't want you. No wonder no one wants you. Who would want to be with someone who's chubby and disgusting?** _

 

"Harry?" Liam waves a hand in my face, worried gaze breaking me out of my trance.

 

I sigh, clenching my eyes shut as I try to remain in the present.

 

"Why are you here." I say tersely, propping my hand up against the door frame. He glances at my wrist briefly before opening his mouth like he's about to say something. But then his eyes widen and his gaze flies to my wrist.

 

"What's..." He breathes, pointing to it. I furrow my brows as I look to where he's pointing, and silently curse for not putting on a shirt as I see the damage from last night and from previous nights loiter my once smooth skin in an uneven, jagged pattern.

 

"It's not what you think," the excuse leaves my lips in an attempt to diffuse the situation, but I know it's futile. His expression becomes taut and he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

 

"Harry...what in the hell are you doing to yourself?" His brown puppy dog eyes search mine for answers, answers that I'm unwilling to provide. But I know he knows- hell, there's no way he can't know after what he's seen. His eyes study my body and I wince inwardly as I wonder if he sees what I see whenever I accidentally catch a glimse of myself in the mirror, I wonder if he sees the fat ugly disgusting piece of shit that I see. 

 

He sighs, eyes fluttering shut. "You've lost weight." He states, almost accusingly. I stare at the wall behind him, my grip tightening on the door.

 

"It's really none of your business, Liam." It comes out a lot harsher than I intended, and I instantly regret the words the second they leave my mouth. Liam's eyes widen, a hurt expression passing over his face fleetingly before it's replaced with anger as he leans forward.

 

"Really? It's none of my business that one of my best friends and band mates is trying to off himself by starving himself, cutting himself, and shit knows what else by looking at that-" He points to the boil that'd sprung up from last nights burning session," and that's none of my business? Because that's really fucking important if you ask me," his voice is loud, brazen, and upset. I look down at my feet.

 

"I'm not trying to off myself, Jesus," I breathe, shaking my head as I look up to meet his gaze.

 

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms, staring at me in disbelief.

 

"Don't tell me you're trying to justify this-"

 

"Yeah, I am actually," I cut him off, my eyes narrowing. "What in the hell do you know about anything, besides what little Zayn told you- if he actually told you anything at all? This," I gesture to my wrist," Is fucking helping me, okay? It's my shrink, my therapy, whatever, and it makes everything alright again. And I'll be damned if I let anyone else take that away from me," I spat, my body shaking from lack of sleep, food, and from the emotions coursing through me like a tidal wave. I grip onto the door tightly, trying to steady myself as I take in the stunned silence from Liam's end.

 

As a few more seconds pass I shake my head, not meeting his gaze as I'm sure I know what lies there- disgust, disappointment, and hate.

 

"I'm fine Liam, really. Just, you should go okay? It'd be better for the both of us anyways," I reply quietly, trying to shut the door quickly but Liam catches it in his hand. He's stronger than me, so he holds it open with ease. His eyes are pleading as I see concern in the place where hate should lie.

 

"Just let me in, okay? I'm here to help." He pleads, his expression catching me off guard.

 

"Yeah, okay," I sigh.

 

**********************************

 

"No."

 

"Harry-"

 

"I said no, absolutely not," I reply scathingly, digging my fingernails into my wrists. I hiss as a smarting pain erupts there and look down to see I'd popped the disgusting boil, which was now leaking some clear fluid. Liam groans from beside me as his hands take mine- attempting to be gentle- and uses the napkins from the takeout smiley face bag to wipe it up.

 

I glanced over at our food which still remained untouched after I'd childishly told him that I wasn't eating anything because I had a "stomach ache", to which he childishly responded that he must be coming down with the same thing as well, and that he didn't feel the need to eat either, his eyes challenging. We both knew he was taking the piss when his stomach growled rather loudly right after, and I was so close to caving in to eat because I hated making other people freaking suffer and god damn Liam for using my kindness against me.

 

"Jesus Harry," He breathes exasperatedly, like a parent scolding a child, tossing the napkins away and shifting on the couch towards me, not letting go of my wrist as his eyes study the jagged lines that crisscross it, looking almost like a tattoo from how much the scars had had little time to heal before being reopened savagely by me. After a few moments he chuckles darkly, one of his fingers tracing them lightly like he's scared they'll re open or something. When he looks up towards me I arch an eyebrow.

 

"What?" I breathe, confused by his demeanor. Liam was always an open book, always so easy to read, but a dark expression crosses over his face- one that I've never seen before, and he sighs before dropping my hand, clenching his eyes shut as he pulls his knees up to his chest.

 

"It's amazing how if you tell yourself a lie long enough that your brain eventually accepts it as true, isn't it?" His voice is flat. I furrow my brows in confusion as I shift closer towards him.

 

"What are you talking about?"

 

"Harry, I knew something was wrong with you from day one." I freeze, my eyes going wide as hurt floods through me at his words. The sting settles into my bones, my blood, nestling there until later when I can't take it anymore and have to urge it out. Wrong with me...he thought something was wrong with me? I blink my eyes to fight the water that's threatening to break the surface.

 

_**Louis was the first one to go because of how much of a freak you are, I guess Liam's next huh? How unfortunate Harry, you really are worthless.** _

 

I clench my teeth, ignoring the voice as I try to focus on what Liam is saying, digging my nails into the couch cushion under me.

 

"...and I started noticing that you were wearing bracelets a few months ago and I remember how odd that was, because you always said you hated bracelets, thought they were stupid and such, but I played it off and was like okay, he must like bracelets now or something. No big deal. But then one day I remember It was cold and I really needed to borrow a hoodie and I figured out of all of the guys you'd be the most okay with it because you're always nice and stuff, so I put it on and the sleeves were so long because you're tall as all get out Harry, really, so I rolled them up and I noticed some blood....and I should've keyed it in then, but I didn't, I just played it off like you got a cut or something. Again no big deal and- Harry, are you okay?" His eyes furrowed as he sat up, taking in my state.

 

I was taking in deep breaths as I fought the urge to run to the kitchen and use the lighter in the top drawer, the word worthless repeating in my head like a mantra. Stop it Harry, stop it, you don't want Liam to think of you as even more of a freak if that's possible. I clench my eyes shut, fingers sifting through my hair, and take a deep breath.

 

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine.."

 

"Harry.."

 

"Keep going Liam, I want to know what the fuck is wrong with me," I try to say it venomously, but instead the words fall out of my mouth slowly laced with pain and hurt. Liam's eyes grow wide.

 

"What are you talking about?" He breathes, his voice sounding far away, almost like he was in a tunnel. Liam shakes his head. "I was just trying to explain what I-"

 

"You were just trying to explain what you thought was wrong with me since day one of the fucking X factor, yeah, I know. I get it. I'm a freak. So continue because I want to hear it so I can change and figure out how to make myself "better", if that's even possible," I laugh humorlessly in attempt to hide the shaking in my voice, to hide the tears that want to leak out because God, if Liam, kindhearted good natured Liam, doesn't even like who I am then how can anyone else on this earth even try to?

 

I don't even realize that my body is shaking again until Liam pulls me forward, arms on my shoulders as his eyes are wide with concern and...is that fear?

 

"Fuck mate," He curses, still sounding so far away as he shakes his head. He pulls me into a hug, and I blink in confusion, weakly trying to pull away, but his grip tightens even harder around me.

 

"Breathe in and out deeply, yeah?" He says slowly, his voice rattling through my bones from his chest, and I try to follow his instructions as I realize I'd been wheezing really loud the entire time. Eventually everything stops sounding like it's so far away in a distant tunnel, and my body's quivering ceases and the tears from my eyes are gone as Liam continues to rub my back.

 

"Harry, what I was saying earlier had nothing to do with something being wrong with you as a person in particular. I should've worded that better I guess. What I meant was that, I've known that somethings been wrong with you from day one ever since the, well, the incident," he breathes, and whatever relief floods through me at the thought that yay, Liam doesn't think I'm a freak, goes away immediately at the mention of the moment that is the very bane of my existence. I pull away instantly as Liam lets me go.

 

"You know?" I breathe, the tears returning this time out of embarrassment and shame. Liam smiles a little sadly as he rubs the back of his head almost guiltily. He takes a few deep breaths.

 

"Well, I mean, it was kind of accident really, I didn't even mean to-" 

 

"How."

 

"Harry, really, It was an accident I swear, don't get mad okay? Because it's in the past and-"

 

"How, Liam."

 

"It was really all my fault because I was sticking my nose where it didn't belong-"

 

"HOW DID YOU FIND OUT?!" I yell, catching us both off guard by the volume of my voice because I'm hardly ever loud. Liam lets out a little distressed sound as he looks torn, oh so torn, before he whispers the three words that I never wanted to hear.

 

"Louis told me."

 

Betrayal, white and hot erupts in me, like lava bursting from a volcano that had been dormant for years. The hurt is next, the stinging realization that after every promise we'd ever made he'd still go and do that, followed by the sadness and the horrible heart wrenching realization that wow, I really didn't mean anything to him after all.

 

"Louis told you," I repeat without any emotion, staring at Liam with a blank expression as I for once successfully mask my emotions. Score for Harry. His eyebrows furrow worriedly as he studies me, as if he were expecting some big outburst of me yelling, or crying, or both, and looks bewildered.

 

"Um, yeah, yeah he did." A moment of tense silence ensues before Liam sighs and scoots closer.

 

"Which is why I was mentioning earlier, before you popped that boil thing, that you should talk to him, that maybe it would help with all of...well, you know, this," He says picking up my wrist to make a moot point. I study him wordlessly.

 

Why would I do that when he's made it clear how little I mean to him? I think bitterly, but I attempt a small smile and nod my head at Liam.

 

"I'll think about it," I breathe, and Liam understanding how overwhelmed I must be, pulls me in for another hug that this time I return, wordlessly thanking him for being so stubborn and letting himself into my apartment.

 

"You know we still have to talk about..." he trails off, and I nod, squeezing my eyes shut.

 

"I know."

 

"Because it's not healthy Harry, what you're doing to yourself. And Zayn and I are going to do whatever we can to help stage an intervention and such. Even if it means telling someone-" he cuts off as he feels me tense up in his grip, and he sighs, carding a hand through my hair.

 

"We'll talk about it later, yeah?" I sigh gratefully, nuzzling into his chest. As I'm about to doze off into sleep, I silently wish that it'd been Liam who I'd fallen for instead of Louis, because Liam was always careful with the things he owned or the people he knew, and I knew that Liam wouldn't have broken my heart in the way that Louis did.

 

But then I recall a conversation that Louis and I once had had, about love, life, and about heartbreak warfare. And I remember him fretting and worrying and begging me to slap him if he ever did something as silly as hurting me or breaking my heart, to which I'd replied with a fond laugh,

 

_"Louis, it'd be a pleasure to have my heart broken by you."_


End file.
